Surviving Together
by Eady of Old
Summary: "Would you have ever told me, had I not gone to Mrs. Hughes?"


**Surviving Together**

**Summary:** "Would you have ever told me, had I not gone to Mrs. Hughes?"

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Downton Abbey or these characters

**A/N: This is a short scene I wrote which takes place soon after the events of S4E5. I have no other story to plug it into at the moment, so it will have to stand alone as a bit of an angsty one-shot. Discussion of the events of episode 3, so govern yourselves accordingly.**

** Reviews are always appreciated.**

* * *

><p>He did not ask her right away, but the question weighed on him. Even after she moved back into the cottage, taking her rightful place in their bed at night, separated by as much distance as he could physically give her, it whispered doubts in his ear in the darkness.<p>

How long would she have let things go on as they had? Would Anna have truly stayed away from him forever, allowing their marriage to crumble to dust in the wake of her silence and avoidance of him?

After a week had passed from their conversation in the boot room, she seemed more at ease with him. They were not as they once were before her attack. She still started when he touched a hand to her shoulder. And she would not let him see her unclothed when she changed. But she opened up a little more each day.

He came upon her making tea in the kitchen in the afternoon of their half day off. Neither had felt like going into the village and Anna had been quiet since breakfast. He missed her normally cheerful moods almost as much as he missed the physical contact between them.

"Can I ask you something?" he queried as she set a pot of tea on a tray long with two cups. The biscuits were his favorite, not hers, a detail he readily noticed.

Anna did not look at him as she responded automatically, "Of course."

He followed her to the table and sat down beside her. He waited until she'd poured them both tea to broach the subject.

"Would you have ever told me, had I not gone to Mrs. Hughes?" he asked her, his voice manifesting the pain in his heart.

She met his question with silence and for several long moments, he wondered if she would simply get up and leave him alone at the table.

"I don't know," Anna answered finally, not meeting his eyes. "I don't know if I could have."

Bates could not take his own eyes off of her. "To spare my suffering?"

Nodding, she elaborated softly, "Yours in knowing and mine in... in putting that on you."

"What if you had been with child?"

The question hung heavy in the air of their quiet cottage. Anna said nothing for a very long time.

"I don't know," she told him, raising her eyes. She still could not meet his gaze, but instead focused on an invisible spot on his chest. "But I would not have tricked you into believing the child was yours. I'd have sooner gone away somewhere."

A note in her voice gave Bates pause, as though she were not quite being truthful with him. "You didn't believe I would have supported you?" he asked, suddenly feeling short of breath. He reached out a hand and took hers, carefully wrapping his fingers in his palm. She did not pull away.

Her eyes lifted to his and in them he saw a deep well of sadness with no depth and no end. "How could I possibly have asked you to support me while I brought into this world a child who wasn't yours?"

He swallowed at her certainty, her utter certainty in her perception of him. Tears had begun to well in her eyes, and she quickly went on, "How could I have born a child other than yours? I don't even know how..."

A sob choked off the rest of her statement as Anna's emotions overcame her. Her entire body shook as she cried and Bates stood from the table and pulled her up into his arms. His arms surrounded her, gentle and protective, as wave after wave of anguish washed over her.

When she finally began to quiet, Bates said softly, "I would love any child of yours."

Anna stiffened against him and did not move a muscle. Sensing that he'd said the wrong thing, he quickly added, "Not that you would have... of course, I would never..."

He sighed at his inability to say what he was feeling, what he was thinking. Needing for her to understand competed with his own desire to understand her thoughts and fears.

Beginning again, Bates said, "Anna, every part of you is precious to me. I would never let you go away unless you wanted to leave me... If you wanted to be rid of me, I would of course, let you go. But I would never, ever _choose _to be separated from you."

Death held more appeal than a life without her, but he kept those words to himself. She had always been his salvation. Without her, nothing held meaning.

Anna was quiet for quite some time. He could feel her remain tense in his arms, unmoving but refusing to relax. He sensed she was about to speak when she began trembling.

"I'd have killed myself," she said finally, "had I been with child."

Whatever he suspected she might confess, it was not that. Never that. Unconsciously, he hugged her to him even more tightly, as though he could keep her safe and unharmed simply through his own strength, as though his body might be a shield to shelter her from the pain of a hostile world.

"Oh, Anna..." he murmured in devastation.

Secure against him, her voice faltered as she asked, "How could I have lived with myself? And how could I have put you through such a thing? To have our dream of having a child perverted by that... by that monster..."

He shuddered as he forced the breath from his chest. The thought of Anna intentionally harming herself, let alone doing it out of some thought of sparing him, filled him with abject terror. His eyes stung painfully and he realized that hot tears had escaped to stream down his cheeks.

Bates pulled away from her so that he could look down into her face, his hands gently grasping her shoulders. He was unable to let go of her, not now. The agony in her eyes mirrored his own feelings.

"I don't want you to ever feel that way," he told her desperately. "Not ever, Anna. Nothing is worth your life. We would have gotten through it and figured it out, no matter what happened. We will get through it. But if you had-" He stopped, his throat seizing closed at the image his mind conjured of him coming home to the cottage to find her... her body - still and cold...

He forced out, "There is nothing without you. _I _am nothingwithout you. You must know that..."

Her gaze fell, her chin dropping as her head bent in repentant misery. Bates felt her shoulders tremble beneath his hands, and he pulled her back to him, relishing the feel of her arms as they wrapped around his middle without hesitation. Her fingers grasped his jacket into tight fists and held on to him for dear life.

"You are all that matters to me," he whispered. "Only you."

Her bottom lip trembled violently as she responded, "But how could I have put you through that? Force you to raise a child not your own? What kind of woman would ever do that to her husband?"

He sighed at her impossible questions. The truth was, he had no wish to put Anna through an unwanted pregnancy, whomever the father might be. And raising another man's child, particularly one who had viciously violated his wife, held little appeal. But given the alternative Anna had suggested, he'd do anything. Her life, her safety and happiness, were beyond value, and he could endure whatever might be necessary to preserve them.

In the years since their marriage, Bates had long wondered if he had the capacity to be a good father. While he knew Anna would be a natural mother, he doubted his own abilities given his own harsh father and his physical lameness. Was it right to bring a child into the world with a man such as he as a parent? And yet, how could he possibly deny Anna the chance at motherhood if it came to pass?

Now that he was faced with that reality, he felt a sudden certainty settle in to him. He would be a father to Anna's child, no matter how that child came into being, if she wished it. His love for her was so much that he could not help but love any babe that came from her, even if it looked like another man. Besides, parents unable to conceive frequently adopted orphaned children, and their love was no less real.

"You are my wife," he told her ardently, deliberately repeating the words he'd said before. "Any child of yours would be _our _child, Anna, and I would love it just as much."

Her tears had not yet stopped, but he felt her quiver at his declaration and sniffle as she took in a long, painful breath.

"I would have told you..." she began finally.

He assured her, "I know."

Holding her against him, Bates was too desperate to let her go. To think he'd almost lost her, without even knowing why...

"If I ever lost you," he began, "my world would end, Anna. You have to know that. I could endure anything but losing you. Together, we can survive whatever we must, but only together..."

She nodded against him, and he could feel her stiff body release a bit of tension. To think of her suffering so, in silence, cut through him with such pain he could barely stand it. Bates knew her motive was to spare him pain, but she'd also thought herself unworthy of him, as though she'd been sullied by the perpetrator's violation. Anna had used the word 'spoiled,' and it sounded so foreign to hear spoken aloud in her voice. He was a failure as a husband for ever letting her believe she could be anything other than the most precious human being alive to him.

"The last thing I want is to hurt you," Anna said, her words quiet but full of conviction. "I can't bear to see you harmed."

Sighing deeply, he replied, "I hope you know that I feel the same about you. I wish I could take this pain from you now. I would, if it were possible, in an instant..."

Bates would endure anything to spare her. He would suffer any agony or indignity, whether she asked it or not. But he was so helpless to stave off her anguish. All he could do was try to reassure her, try to give her support and comfort. Whatever she needed from him, he would give without thought or question. But he could not abide the thought of her torturing herself for his sake, not in any form or fashion. She had been through enough.

Anna pulled away from him and Bates let her go. She let her fingers find his and looked down at their clasped hands as she spoke. "Please don't ask me any more about who the man was. Will you do that for me?"

He nodded without thinking, but said with conviction, "Of course. I'll do anything you ask."

Her face screwed into a grimace as she explained, "I just can't talk about it..." Tears choked off the rest of her statement, and he squeezed her hands in his, desperately wishing he could take her in his arms again.

"You don't have to," Bates assured her. "You don't have to do anything. I'm here, and I won't go anywhere. I will always be here for you, and you never have to talk about it if you don't want to. You never have to do anything you don't want, Anna."

Aware of how he'd pushed her into answering his questions days earlier in the boot room, Bates closed his eyes against a wave of self hatred. He had no right to push her, to demand information from her, not when he was the one who had failed to protect her. The fault was all his. To make her shoulder that burden would be both selfish and cowardly.

"Thank you," she told him, forcing herself to smile through her tears as she met his gaze. "Truly."

Despite the pain in his chest, the utter agony of having to watch her push back her fear and her anguish and feelings he could not even conceive of, Bates returned the smile. They stood that way together for an uncomfortably long time, their clasped hands anchoring them in a moment of truth and trust. No matter what had happened in the past or what might happen in the future, they were still husband and wife, and they would brave the storm around them together.

"We should have the tea before it is cold," Anna suggested finally, and followed her lead, sitting back down at the table.

The attempt at normalcy was rather pathetic in the wake of their emotional conversation, but Anna brushed away the moisture on her cheeks and poured them both a cup. Bates took a sip of his tea, but it was lukewarm and almost cool.

He drank it anyway.

_fin_


End file.
